35. Sam
THIRTY-FIVE
Sam
"I need space to think."
The words hang between us. He nods once slowly and purses his lips, but doesn't say anything.
"Don't get things twisted. Sex wasn't forgiveness," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel inside.
God, why does he have to look at me like that, like he cares? He's good at that.
Cole reaches for his shirt and pulls it over his head with one hand. "I know."
"Do you? Because five minutes ago, you were acting like everything was just the way it was before all of this imploded. Before I knew you were actively tearing apart my life.”
He stands, running a hand through his messy hair. "I wasn't acting like anything. I was hoping."
Hoping . The word hits me square in the chest.
"Well, stop hoping. This was just..." I wave my hand between us. "Physical. Temporary insanity. Whatever."
"Sam."
"What? "
"You said I made you fall for me."
Heat creeps up my neck.
"I was emotional. People say things that aren't exactly accurate when they're emotional."
"Do they?"
I notice he's supporting his hurt arm with his good hand. "Yes. They do."
He's quiet for a long moment, just watching me. Outside, Arden is probably pacing on the beach, giving us enough time to get dressed and pretend like we are normal people.
"How long are you here?" Cole asks.
"I leave Monday morning."
"I'm leaving Monday too. I'm closing on the house. Can I see you again while we're here? To talk, not to," he waves his hand without completing the thought.
"Oh, you sold it already? Congrats."
"Thanks."
"I don't know if seeing each other again is a good idea."
"Sam, we're neighbors. I'm not sure we can effectively avoid each other completely. I will be respectful. I feel like there is more to say. I'm just asking you to hear me out. Please."
Another stretch of silence. The coffee Arden brought sits untouched on the table, probably getting cold. Cole picks up his shoes from where they ended up beside the couch.
Why does this feel like the end of something that never really started?
"I don't know. Let me think about it."
He looks up from lacing his sneakers.
"What you did to the hospital, to my mom's wing, I can't just get over that because we have good sex. "
Something flickers across his face. Pain, maybe. Or regret.
"I know."
"Do you really?"
He stands, fully dressed now. "I fucked up. I made choices that hurt you, and I can't take them back. But I've made changes to do better, to be better. You make me want to be better."
"I need you to go."
He nods again. There's no argument, no pleading.
"If you change your mind about talking, I'll be here."
"I may come by at some point. Give me some time."
Cole walks to the sliding door, pausing with his hand on the handle.
“For what it’s worth, falling for you wasn’t part of any plan. It just happened.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with cold coffee and the lingering scent of his cologne on my couch.
A few seconds later, Arden appears at the bottom of the steps. She must’ve been watching from her porch.
I open the door and call out, “Hey, you mind if I take a quick shower?”
“God, no. Please shower. I don’t want y’all’s smegma sweat all over me.” She drops onto the couch and pulls out her phone. “I’ll sit right here and pretend to check emails.”
I toss a T-shirt at her and head for the shower.
The shower water runs scalding hot against my skin, but I can't wash away the confusion Cole left behind. My muscles ache in places that remind me exactly what just happened on my couch.
He resigned from Kings Holdings. He said I make him want to be better.
I replay his words, searching for lies the way I used to search for hidden bleeds during surgery rotations. But Cole’s voice carried something I haven’t heard from him before.
Exhaustion, maybe. Or genuine regret.
Steam clings to my skin as I step out and towel off. I catch my reflection in the mirror, noting my flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.
A breeze moves through the house when I crack the back door. The salt air hits my lungs like a defibrillator. I tug on a clean t-shirt and shorts, swipe some moisture from under my eyes, and head back out.
Arden glances up from her phone. “You decent?”
“Mostly.” I drop into the chair beside her.
"You smell good."
“Thanks. Sorry you had to see that earlier.”
“Oh, please. It’s not the first time I’ve walked in on someone mid-thrust. But it was jarring seeing you with him on your sofa. That wasn't on my BINGO card today.”
I groan. “Can we pretend it never happened?”
She stands, stretches. “After you tell me how you ended up naked with him. I have to walk down to the cottage for brunch with my aunt shortly. We’ve got twenty minutes, so start talking . ”
I swipe hair off my face. “I can't even tell you how that happened.”
“Well, let's walk through it together.”
“He came out to the beach and met me after my morning run. I was trying to be a bitch, to hurt him like he'd hurt me, to start a fight. I don't know. I wanted to hate him. But I couldn't.”
She lifts a brow. “And then you tripped and fell onto his dick?”
“Arden.”
“Sorry. Proceed. ”
“I asked questions. He gave answers. We talked. Really talked. It got emotional. Or, I should say, I got emotional.”
She squints at me. “I'm still not getting the exact bridge here."
“Well, it started when I slammed his arm in the glass door. He's lucky I didn't break it in two. When I say slam, I mean I slammed that shit."
"I've seen you slam that thing. Yowsers."
"There was a kiss once that disarmed me. And then everything else just kind of happened from there.”
She snorts. “You had make-up sex after domestic violence?”
I stare into my mug like the coffee’s gonna spell out the answer. “I don’t know what it means. I really don’t.”
Arden waits and doesn’t press.
“He asked to see me again. He said he wants to talk about everything, explain things he didn't say before.”
“And?” she asks.
“I told him I didn't think it was a good idea."
"So that's it? You sleep with him one more time for good measure, and leave all these questions?"
Her eyes flick over me. “You should hear him out.”
I look up. “You just saw me naked with the guy I swore I’d never speak to again, and now you’re telling me to talk to him? Clearly, I have no self-restraint.”
“I’m telling you to get closure,” she says, standing.
I bite my bottom lip, wondering if I can think sensibly with him in person again. Maybe the sex was my way to release on him, and I've gotten it out of my system.
“You’ve been spiraling for months, Sam. This limbo thing you’ve been doing isn't helping your psyche. See him. Ask your questions. Say your piece. Keep your pants on.”
I huff. “Closure, huh? That's what we’re calling rage sex? ”
She grins. “Closure can be messy. Just make sure this time you leave with answers instead of rug burns.”
Arden checks her watch and pats her knees. "Shit, I need to get going. My aunt's expecting me, and you know how she gets when people are late."
"Thanks for coming by and for the pep talk. Sorry, again, for that naked welcome."
"You know I love some drama. It was perfect."
My phone rattles against the table. It's an Atlanta area code.
Arden raises an eyebrow. "Answer it. It could be important."
I reach for the phone, but miss the call by half a ring. "Damn it."
A voicemail notification pops up immediately. I tap it and put it on speaker.
"Dr. Taylor, this is Monique Whitaker, outreach programs coordinator at Grady Memorial. I got your message about the mobile clinic ideas and wanted to talk through some details. Give me a call back when you have a chance. Thanks."
Her voice carries that warm, no-nonsense authority I remember from our brief meeting when I was exploring the idea of revitalizing the program.
Arden gives my arm a quick squeeze. "Go change the world."
I laugh despite everything. "Get out of here."
She grabs her bag and heads down the beach path. I wait until she's out of sight, then dial Monique back.
"Monique Whitaker."
"Hi, it's Sam Taylor. Thanks for calling me back."
"Of course. I've been thinking about your interest in the mobile program since we talked. Your message was exciting. It sounds like you have some good momentum to make it happen."
The ocean stretches endlessly in front of me, waves rolling in a steady rhythm. Do I really want this?
"Yes. I think I do. I put some feelers out, and everyone seemed interested. Dr. O'Brien offered to make it part of the residency hour requirements, which will help get doctors on board."
"I pulled the old files. The mobile outreach program was one of our most beloved initiatives before it went dormant. We served East Point, Bankhead, and parts of downtown every Friday for almost three years."
"Did you say the head of the program left Grady?"
"Dr. Patricia Reeves, our previous program director, took a position at St. Jude. Without someone to lead it, the program fell through the cracks. Grady didn't have the internal funding to keep it going, and frankly, we didn't have anyone with the bandwidth to take it on."
My chest tightens with anticipation. "I think we can make it happen. I'm willing to take the lead."
Monique doesn't sugarcoat anything. "As I mentioned, the van needs a complete retrofit and new equipment. We're talking diagnostic tools, medications, and basic surgical supplies. Then there's insurance, licensing, gas, and maintenance. All up front."
"I have the funding to take care of that. You said we can get some earmarked funds from Grady, and then tap into fundraising, too, for the monthly cost to run it, right?"
"I told you it's over two hundred thousand to relaunch properly, didn't I? That's significant capital. You have an investor who has committed to that?"
The number is big, but underneath the shock, something else kicks up. Something sharper than fear.
Purpose .
"I plan to fund it myself. I'm selling my house here in Palm Beach. I should know more about timing after I meet with my Realtor tomorrow."
Silence stretches across the line.
"Wow. That's very generous, Dr. Taylor. You must be serious about this."
"Dead serious."
"Not that I want to talk you out of it, but keep in mind you'll be handling logistics, community relationships, ongoing fundraising, and volunteer scheduling. It's a massive undertaking for a full-time doctor, let alone a resident."
"I'm a third-year. My body doesn't remember what rest feels like anyway. I looked everything over, and I feel good about making it work."
Monique gives a short laugh. "Fair point. You really want this, huh?"
"I do."
God, I do. The conviction in my voice surprises me. It's the first time in weeks I've said anything with that much certainty, let alone with excitement. I need something meaningful to work toward, to build.
"Alright then. I can pull a list of past volunteers and reach out to nurses and residents who expressed interest before but didn't want to lead the program. Volunteers were never the problem. People have always rallied around this kind of work."
My eyes burn, but these are different tears. These are hopeful ones.
"You get the money and a sustainable funding plan, and we could have you up and running by fall."
"Really?"
"Really. The community needs this, Sam. I'm excited and humbled to have such a dedicated doctor willing to make it happen. This is a blessing for this city."
The salt air fills my lungs as I close my eyes, possibility stinging my throat. "I'll call you as soon as I know more about the house sale."
"Looking forward to it."
The call ends, leaving me alone with the sound of waves and the weight of what I just committed to.
Palm Beach isn’t home anymore. Grady is. Atlanta is. And I’m about to build something there without my mom, without my dad, without the Taylor name meaning anything in the event I need help.
Kip isn't down the hall anymore, nor is Arden a quick car ride away.
No one will be there to soften the fall if I screw this up. I don’t know if I have what it takes.
But I’m about to find out.